300 yards. The place, known as the
bazaar, was a hive of stores, wretched cafes, and the like. As the
Sirdar had had all the beer and liquor in the place seized and put
under seal before the advent of Mr T. Atkins, there was little to be
had in Dakhala bazaar besides a not too pure soda-water, coffee,
sardines, beans, maccaroni, oil, tobacco and matches.

[Illustration: STREET IN DAKHALA.]

For six weeks southerly winds blew almost daily. South of 17 degrees,
the northerly breeze does not commence to blow before the end of
August. It was warm, extremely warm, under the burning tropical sun.
The heat bore down like a load upon head and shoulders and enveloped
us like a blast from a roaring furnace. About noontide it was
ordinarily 120 degrees Fahr. in my tent. Still, I am sure it was by no
means so oppressive as at Korti in March 1885. The Atbara and the Nile
helped to temper the fiery glow that radiated from the desert rocks
and sands. At best, the heat is a sore trial, but to be borne with
more patience than the "devils" and sand storms that bother by night
as well as by day. Snow-drifts are mild visitations of Providence
compared with a dust storm or whirlwind. These latter would smother
you, if you would let them, quicker and less respectably than a shroud
of snow. Jack Frost bites mildly, preferring to do his serious work by
dulling the nerves; but the Dust Devil is a cruel tormentor from first
to last. You may bury your head in folds of cloth and mosquito
netting, and sweat and stifle in the attempt, but he snuffs you and
powders you all the same. He puffs his finest clouds in your face, and
round and round you till you find bedding and clothing are no more
protection against him than they are against the Roentgen ray. One
particular night he came in great strength to Dakhala, heaped waves of
sand over us, dug great hollows around our quarters, and completed his
diabolical games by completely overturning two of my colleagues'
tents. I saw my friends emerge from the ruins of canvas, bedding, and
boxes, wild, half-clad, terra-cotta figures, such as may have escaped
from the destruction of Pompeii. But the human mind is a curious
thing. It does not acknowledge defeat easily, and so a victim said to
me he had pulled his tent down to keep it from falling. The Dust Devil
had nothing to do with it.

Early in August the situation assumed a peculiar interest to us of the
fourth estate. We were told that the troops were